


The city outside still sound like its on fire

by Stellacarlberg



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Hook-up that leads to Feelings, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating because of swearing and implications of sex, Spot Conlon is Bad at Feelings, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins-centric, They are bad at talking to each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellacarlberg/pseuds/Stellacarlberg
Summary: Spot Conlon doesn't do relationships. He doesn't know how to deal with being so close to another person. Race doesn't seem to know about this rule, and manages to fuck around among Spot's feelings in the process.Spot is not good at feelings. Race just wants to talk.Title (and inspiration for the general plot) is taken from the song Sight Of The Sun by Fun.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Newsies-fic!!! I'm very excited for this holy shit

New York is never quiet. That is something all who live there knows. The roaring of cars, the clatter of pedestrians and the general white city noise doesn’t go away when the night approaches, and neither does it lessen when the sun rises once again. It is constant, and you either learn to live with it or leave the city. 

Spot has lived in New York his whole life, so he is used to it. It calms him. He knows people who can’t sleep with any noise disturbing them, but Spot isn’t like that. That is not why he is awake this early. The room is quiet enough, at least as quiet it could be with the window cracked open to let in a breeze of morning air. The bed is warm, almost too warm now with the arm slung lazily over Spot’s waist, and the owner of said arm pressed against Spot’s back. Small puffs of breaths tickle Spot’s neck. 

He can’t breathe. 

His throat is dry, as if he hasn’t even seen water in days. A faint throbbing in his head reminds him of the night before. He closes his eyes, blocking out the room that isn’t his. He tries to take deep breaths, to calm down. He needs to pull himself together. He is almost proud of himself for managing to breathe evenly after a couple of minutes.

He opens his eyes again. The room is not completely dark anymore, like it had been when he first woke up. Now it’s more of a gloomy gray as the sky outside of the window gradually grows lighter. The usual white noise from the city outside helps to ground him a bit. He is used to it, as it is something he hears every morning when he wakes up. It makes the unfamiliar situation he is in a little less daunting. After a few moments of taking in the sound of cars outside, Spot slowly glances at the boy behind him. 

Race is still sleeping, his hair pressed against his pillow and his bare chest calmly rising and falling every few seconds. His mouth is hanging slightly open, with small puffs of air escaping in time with his chest. He fell asleep with his mouth on Spot’s neck, and he has stayed like that during the night. In sleep, his whole face is relaxed, as if all of the world’s troubles doesn’t concern him. When he’s sleeping, he doesn’t wear his usual trademark smirk. Spot can’t help but miss it. 

Okay, no. That’s not something he’s supposed to think about. 

Suddenly waking up to reality, Spot tears his gaze away from Race. Time for thinking is over. Instead he carefully lifts the arm draped over him and slides out of the bed without making a noise. He didn’t have to worry, because Race only sighs in his sleep and rolls over a bit, not showing any other sign of waking up. Spot ignores a small wave of nausea and bends down, grabbing his clothes that have been slung carelessly on the floor. As he picks up his shirt and boxers flashes of memories of last night seeps into his brain. He ignores them.

Spot Conlon doesn’t do relationships. Before meeting Jack, he barely even did friendships. Putting yourself out there, trusting people to not fuck you over and having those expectations placed on yourself in return is something he still struggles with. He had, during a big part of his life, no reason to trust anyone. Foster home after foster home, school after school. Not meeting anyone who expected him to be anything more than a good-for-nothing troublemaker. So he became what people expected him to, and in return he never stayed in one place longer than a month. Meanwhile, he built a wall to keep out unwanted visitors. No one needed to know who Spot was. If they did, they wouldn’t like him. That’s just how it was. 

Until Medda. Until Jack. Until meeting Jack’s group of friends. Until meeting Racetrack. 

Spot’s only had a few years of experience with having friends. Any feelings that goes beyond that is not something he can deal with. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to deal with things like that.

Spot leaves the small apartment just as the first rays of sunlight make their way into the bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are more than halfway done."  
> “I know”, Race mutters and sighs miserably.  
> “I thought you liked that class, as well”, David points out unhelpfully. “Why the sudden sulk?”  
> “I’m not sulking”, Race protests, clearly sulking.

“Do you think it’s really necessary to, like… Actually write this essay?”

David glances up from his own laptop, slightly raising his eyebrows. 

“Like,” Race continues, slowly pushing his textbook further away from himself as he speaks. “Can’t I just go live in a cave and eat leaves or something, instead of getting a degree?”

Romeo and Mush snickers, but are quickly shut up by a look from David that reminds them that they are in a library. 

“You are more than halfway done”, Jack reminds Race. He is sitting next to David, acting like he is studying art-history when he is actually inspecting David’s fingers as they dance across the keyboard. He is itching to sketch them, but knows that David would not appreciate the distraction this close to midterms.  
“I know”, Race mutters and sighs miserably.  
“I thought you liked that class, as well”, David points out unhelpfully, eyes still fixed on his computer screen. “Why the sudden sulk?”  
“I’m not sulking”, Race protests, clearly sulking. Fact was, he had been sulking for days now, but the reason wasn’t really something he could share with his friends. 

Okay, it wasn’t like he had expected Spot to propose after they had hooked up. He hadn’t expected a love-confession or anything like that, because that was just not them. They knew each other too well to expect things like that from each other. 

But Race had expected _something_. A conversation. A discussion. Some sort of confirmation that that night actually had happened, because by now, almost a week later, Race was starting to think that maybe it had all been a very vivid dream. 

Race and Spot hadn’t really talked since that night, and Race was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that Spot was avoiding him. Spot never missed their groups biweekly studygroup, but this was the second in a row that he had failed to show up at. Blink, who was in a few of Spot’s classes and also shared a dorm room with him, had only shrugged when Race had (very casually) asked of the whereabouts of the Brooklyn boy. 

Spot was also not answering Race’s texts, which had been gradually growing more and more desperate as the days went by. 

So, fine, okay. Spot was avoiding him. It was whatever. (It wasn’t)  
Race was fine. (He wasn’t)

“I just…” Race begins, eyes fixed on the table in front of him. “I can’t concentrate today, don’t know why”.  
Lies.  
“Anyway, I should get going, my shift starts soon”.

Technically not a lie, but a definite distraction so he could avoid all the sudden questions. David and Jack share a look (damn telepathic assholes) but don’t question him. Race feels kind of shitty for lying to his friends, but at the same time he can’t help the feeling of relief when he leaves the library for the crisp fall air outside. As he heads for the subway his head is spinning with different theories as to why Spot doesn’t want to see him. 

_Possibility one: He hates me._  
Maybe a bit dramatic. Not very realistic, given what they had done the last time they met. Sure, hate-sex is a thing, but really…

 _Possibility two: He is madly in love with me and can’t face it._  
Even less realistic. The mighty Spot Conlon, in love? Now that was a thought that made Race chickle. Ha. Not likely, even though Race’s heart did a small step number as the idea crossed his mind. 

_Possibility three: He thought I was a really bad fuck and doesn’t want to face me ever again._

Race stops dead in his tracks. Uh. Okay. That was not a pleasant thought. 

“Shit”, he mutters

What if Spot had been so disappointed and displeased with the sex that he didn’t want to meet Race again, because he was afraid of telling Race why he didn’t want to sleep with him again? What if Spot was embarrassed by the fact that they had slept together?  
Fuck.

By some miracle, Race manages to make his way to the coffeeshop where he works. He walks through the door just after lunch hour, so it’s reasonably calm. He grabs an apron and heads behind the counter. He greets Crutchie as usual, but only answers with a vague comment when Crutchie asks how he is. 

He tries to act normal, really he does. But after working on the essay for hours, on top of the drama with Spot, he feels drained. His usual charming smiles feels forced, and he has to ask the customers to repeat their orders more then once because he keeps slipping into long, angsty thought trains that makes him want to throw something against the wall. Crutchie notices, of course, but doesn’t mention it until Race goes on his break.

“Okay, spill”.  
Race looks up from his phone. He is sitting in the small break room, while still having the counter and register in his view. There are no customers right now to distract Crutchie with, though, but Race will damn well try with something else.  
“What do you mean?” He tries for a mildly confused look. Crutchie rolls his eyes.  
“You accidentally made a vanilla latte instead of an espresso. Twice. For the same customer. Something is obviously on your mind, so I ask: what’s wrong?”  
“Nothing’s wrong”.  
“You’re moping.”  
“I’m not, you dickhead.”  
Crutchie looks unimpressed. Race is weak.  
“Okay,” he finally says. “CrutchieamIgoodatsex?”  
Crutchie is quiet for a moment, staring at Race. He looks caught off guard. This was obviously not the kind of issue he thought Race was dealing with. 

“Are you good at - Race what the fuck?”  
“Don’t swear, Jack will blame me for corrupting you.”  
Crutchie ignores him and sits down at a stool next to Race. “Okay, tell me why you are asking me this, because I’m confused.”

But explaining why Race is asking this would mean explaining everything that is going on with Spot. Which is not something Race wants to do.  
Instead he stands up, smiling brightly and forced and shakes his head. “I’m just kidding, dude. Haha! A joke. Yeah. I’m fine. Oh, look, a customer!”

Crutchie is left alone as Race quickly leaves the breakroom to take another order.

Race avoids Crutchie as best he can the rest of the afternoon. Luckily, a small rush of customers arrives and keeps them both busy until Cruchie’s shifts ends. As he is putting on his hat and grabbing his crutches, he glances at Race who is trying to make himself look very busy with wiping down the counter. Crutchie takes pity on him.  
“Look, I’m on my way to meet up with Jack and Davey so I’m gonna have to be short with you,” Crutchie says, a kind smile on his lips. “If you want to know if you are good in bed, maybe you should ask someone who has actually slept with you? Just an idea.”

He leaves without waiting for Race to answer, which is just as well because Race isn’t sure what he would have said anyway. But the advice doesn’t leave his mind for the next few hours. And if Romeo gets a sudden call from Race later that night, asking him to answer a really important question, well. That is between Race and Romeo, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #LetCrutchiesayfuck2k18
> 
> As always, please leave kudos or a comment telling me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are still coming tonight, right?”  
> “Tonight?” Spot tries to remember what “tonight” is, but comes up blank.  
> “Yes, tonight. The party?”

**Missed call from:** Race _(8)_

 **Race, 16.03:** i’m tired of u ignoring me  
**Race, 16.04:** spot  
**Race, 16.38:** fine. dickhead

Spot never thought avoiding Race would be so difficult. And draining. Suddenly, he has to go through all the possible scenarios where they could bump into each other, and then avoid making any of these scenarios possible. How? Staying at home does the trick, to be honest. He has taken to study in his dorm rather than at the library, and he hasn’t been so keen on hanging out with anyone in their friend group, just because of the risk of Race being there. 

Spot can almost imagine Medda scolding him. “What are you so afraid of?” she would probably ask him. “Have Race done anything to make you think he would hurt you?” The answer to that question is no, of course. That doesn’t mean that Spot is any more willing to talk to him, mind you. 

And anyway, Medda isn’t here right now. He’s alone, an adult. He’s supposed to be able to do things like this by himself. 

Spot groans slightly and throws his phone at his bed. It hits the mattress with a thump and then bounces of the bed and onto the floor. 

Spot stares at it. 

It starts to buzz with an incoming call. 

Spot continues to stare at it. 

Maybe if he doesn’t do anything, it will shut itself off. Spot isn’t so lucky. 

The phone continues to buzz. Spot snaps.

He takes two long strides up to the phone and grabs it.  
“For _fuck’s_ sake, Higgins -”, he begins, but is met with a different voice than expected.  
“Whoah, calm down Spotty, it’s just me.”

Spot glances down at the screen. _Jack_. 

Oh.

“Hey, sorry.” Spot is so not in the mood for this right now.  
“No worries, man,” Jack sounds rushed. “You are still coming tonight, right?” In the background Spot can hear the sound of cash registers and people talking.  
“Tonight?” Spot tries to remember what “tonight” is, but comes up blank.  
“Yes, tonight. The party?”

Spot curses under his breath. The party, of course. Jack has been planning this fall-themed (“But it’s _not_ Halloween-themed, because who the fuck can afford a Halloween-costume in this economy?”) party for weeks now. Spot had promised to come. But going also meant facing Race, for sure. 

“I don’t know, Jack-”  
“It wasn’t a question, Spot, more like a reminder.”  
“Maybe I have plans? I double booked.”  
“Sean Patrick Conlon, we are brothers and you know that I love you and would die for you. But I swear to god, if you don’t come to this party I will personally go to your dorm and kick your ass.”

Spot is quiet for a moment. Then he rolls his eyes and snorts. “Like you could take me.”  
He can hear the smile in Jack’s voice. “Just get here by eight, dipship, okay?”  
Then he hangs up and Spot is left alone in his room, sighing and glancing around for something to wear.

The thing is, Jack always throws great parties. He knows his friends very well, which means that he always knows what drinks to get, what snacks to buy, and of course what music to play. In this case it means that when Spot opens the door to the apartment that Jack shares with Davey, he is met with the sound of Bohemian Rhapsody and a lot of people singing along at the top of their lungs. It’s still pretty early in the night, so no one has really gotten drunk yet and no one has started making out on the couch yet (thank god for that). It will probably not take too long before it gets unbearable, though.

Spot steps into the apartment and scans his surroundings. For a Not-Halloween-party there sure are a lot of Halloween-themed decorations. Small pumpkins made out of horrible orange plastic are scattered on every surface that doesn’t already contain drinks or snacks. Small ghosts made out of what looks like paper towels are hanging from the lamps in the ceiling. Dark red, brown and black curtains are slung over shelves and chairs, and the walls are covered in what looks like actual dried leaves. Huh. Fall with a college-student’s budget.  
“Spot!”  
Katherine walks up to him, smiling with a drink in her hand. Spot smiles back, and is relieved when it comes naturally. He has always liked Katherine. She is smart and witty, and speaks her mind, while still managing to be an actually nice person. Spot respects that. When she and Jack broke up senior year of high school Spot had actually been pretty upset. Of course, it had worked out in the end.

“How are you? I feel like we haven’t seen you in forever, where have you been?”  
Spot skillfully dodges the question by humming and busying himself with finding somewhere to hang up his jacket. Then he asks: “How’s Sarah?”  
Katherine shakes her head at his obvious attempt to change the subject, but goes along with it. She begins talking about how hard long distance is and that she knows that Sarah’s college is only a couple of hours away and how that is not too bad, but _still._ Spot lets her talk, happy for any excuse to not go into the living room, where most of the guests are located. 

After catching up with Katherine, Spot feels like maybe he has fulfilled his social interaction criteria for the night and that it’s time to go home. Before he can do anything though, Jack appears with a huge grin on his face and a large drink in his hand.  
“Spot! You came!” he exclaims loudly and pulls Spot in for an one-armed hug.  
“Yeah, I did. You have leaves in your hair.”  
Indeed, there’s a few dried leaves weaved into Jack’s hair, the same oranges and reds as the leaves on the walls.  
“Yeah, I know, it was Crutchie’s idea!”  
“I’m not surprised.”  
Jack is obviously already buzzed, and just laughs. “They look great, don’t you think? You can get a few as well if you want!”  
“I think I’ll pass.”  
“Spoil-sport.” Jack’s eyes widen. “Spoil- _Spot_!”  
He laughs at his own joke, really proud of himself. Spot fights the smile that is threatening to break his mask of indifference, and pats Jack on the back.  
“I need a drink,” he says instead, and Jack continues to chuckle as he points towards the kitchen.  
“In there. Be quick, though, Specs talked about playing Truth or Dare and you really don’t wanna miss that.”  
Spot thinks he could argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot is a mess help my son
> 
> Edit: "Spoil-Spot" is the peak of my humour and I will never not be proud of coming up with that joke ok thank you
> 
> Leave kudos or a comment to let me know what you think of this chapter!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race tries to talk to Spot. Everybody plays Truth or Dare. Spot is not amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this whole fic just an excuse for me to write the Newsies playing truth or dare? I guess you'll never know

“Spot! You came!”

Race freezes mid sentence, and glances towards the hallway, where Jack’s announcement could be heard from. 

Race had been looking forward to this party almost since Jack had announced it was happening. It was right after midterms, so Race could easily relax the entire night while hanging out with his friends, listening to music and drinking cheap alcohol. And for the half hour he had been there so far, it had been great. He had challenged Specs to a dance off (and lost, obviously), drunk almost two beers, sung along to Queen and was now in an interesting discussion with Blink about this one lecturer they both had who looked a bit like a penguin. 

But now, Spot had arrived. 

Which was fine. Which was great, actually, why shouldn’t Spot be here? He was Jack’s foster brother, after all. These were his friends. Of course he would be here. 

And besides, hadn’t Race been trying to talk to Spot for the last two weeks? Spot being here was a good thing, really. So why did Race suddenly felt sick to his stomach?

“Hey, Racer, you good buddy?” Blink asks and waves a hand in front of Race’s face.  
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” Race should maybe be concerned with how easy lying through his teeth is by now. Oh well.  
“You look a bit pale.”  
Race smiles tightly. “Just a bit tired after midterms. I’m gonna go get another drink.”

He rises from the couch and tries to not walk into anyone in the crowded room. It’s not so much that there are lots of people, but Jack and Davey’s apartment is pretty small. It may be the biggest one in their group of friends, but they are still poor college students.

Race makes his way to the kitchen, hoping to find Spot alone. Not that he dislike anyone at the party, far from it, but if he’s going to get into a screaming match with his hook-up/best friend/crush he would rather not have an audience.  
He’s in luck, the kitchen is blissfully quiet and the only person there is Spot. He’s standing with his back against Race, facing the table with drinks.  
“The jungle juice is really good,” Race says lightheartedly and takes a tentative step forward. “At least if you want to get fucked up really quickly.”

Spot looks up hastily, a surprised look on his face. Then it’s gone and replaced with a blank stare. 

Race tries for a smile. “Hiya Spot.”  
Spot looks down at the table again without saying anything and chooses a bottle of beer. He then goes to leave the kitchen, but is stopped by Race’s hand on his arm. 

“Spot, can we-”  
“Don’t touch me,” Spot snarls, janking his arm away.  
Race quickly withdraws his hand, and feels a small stab in his gut. He ignores it.  
“Funny, that’s not what you said last time.” He relies on his acting skills and hopes that his smile is relaxed and smug. Spot’s face is so close. Race could close the gap between them, either with his mouth or his fist. It would be so easy.

Spot shakes his head, and leaves the kitchen. Race is left alone. He swallows once, twice. Then he grabs a drink without seeing what kind it is and leaves through the same door Spot did. 

When Race enters the living room again, Specs is standing on a chair to gather the attention of the guests. 

“Okay people!” he says and grins. “Time for Truth or Dare! Everyone, gather round.”  
A few people groan, but Race isn’t one of them. He loves Truth or Dare. He is the best at Truth or Dare. Truth or Dare is _his_ game. 

The music is turned down slightly, and the couch gets pushed back a bit to make room on the floor for everyone. People begin to settle down on the floor or on chairs. Spot is sitting between Katherine and Jack, but doesn’t talk to either of them. It looks like Jack is trying to get him involved in the story he’s telling, but Spot only stares at his bottle. Race tries to make eye contact with him, tries to get him to acknowledge that Race is even there, but gets nothing. Fine, whatever. Dick.

“The rules are as usual: if you are asked it is your turn to ask a person next time. The penalty for not doing the dare or not answering the question is a shot.”  
Everybody nods and it begins. It starts out pretty lame, as it usually does, with Davey asking Crutchie his celebrity crush and Crutchie making Specs do a handstand while finishing his drink. After a few rounds, people get riskier, and it is revealed that Elmer still sleeps with a stuffed animal when he’s at home and that Small’s most embarrassing moment was when she was at summer camp in seventh grade and accidentally kicked her crush in the face while playing soccer.  
“Race, truth or dare?” Albert’s eyes are shining with mischief as he stares down Race with challenge.  
“Dare, are you kidding me?”  
Albert nods thoughtfully. “Right, I dare you to change shirt with the person sitting...” he glances around the room and shrugs. “I don’t know, let’s say six places to your right.”  
Race’s eyes narrows and he glances to his right, quickly counting. His eyes land on Spot.  
“Oh, _fuck_ no,” they both say in unison. People giggle, but Race really doesn’t see what’s so funny. He glares at Albert, who is looking very pleased with himself. Spot glares at Jack for making him go to this stupid party in the first place. They glare at each other, both too stubborn to make the first move.  
“Penalty?” Specs asks innocently. Race puts up a middle finger in his general direction. Race has never in his life chosen penalty while playing Truth or Dare, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna start because Spot fucking Conlon is pissed at him. 

“Shirt off, Spotty-boy,” Race says. He ignores the wolf whistles from his friends as he tugs of his shirt. Spot sighs deeply, like it takes a personal sacrifice to not punch someone in the face, but does the same.  
Spot’s shirt is softer than Race would have expected, and it’s warm. It smells faintly of the deodorant Spot uses and a lot like his dorm room and _god_. Race is gonna kill Albert for this dare. 

The game continues.  
“Romeo, truth or dare?”  
Romeo’s head is in Specs lap, and he groans when he’s addressed. “I’m lazy. Truth.”  
Katherine thinks for a moment and glances around the room for inspiration. “Okay, uh, what was the weirdest conversation you’ve had lately?”  
Romeo laughs outright, and Race’s mouth goes dry. Oh no. He wouldn’t.  
But three-drink-Romeo doesn’t really have a filter, so he just grins and sits up a little straighter.  
“Right, so, last week I get a call from Race…” People jeer and Race burrows his face in his hands. Crutchie is laughing. Fucker. “He says he has a very important question for me, and I’m like, ‘okay, shoot’,” Romeo takes a dramatic pause. “And then he asks, ‘Romeo, am I good in bed?’”  
Everybody laughs. Race wants to die.  
“Haven’t I been through enough tonight?” Race loudly complains, but Romeo just waves away his comment.  
“Like, basically everyone here knows that Race and I hooked up a couple of times during freshman year, right?” he continues, as if Race hadn’t interrupted. People nod. Jack is still cackling. “Well, apparently little Racetrack here was feeling a bit glum and needed someone to confirm that yes dear, you _were_ a decent shag.”

"I am never talking to you again." Race half-yells over his friends laughs.

Blink claps Race on the shoulder in sympathy, but he is grinning so it doesn’t really count. Race rolls his eyes and sticks up his middle finger at Romeo, who just continues to laugh and blows him a kiss. Race can almost feel Spot’s gaze fixed on him, but even though Race has tried to get Spot’s attention all night, he avoids making eye contact.

The game kind of floats out into nothingness, as it usually does, just as Race’s blush is beginning to fade. Everybody breaks off into smaller groups, either talking or dancing. Race ropes Blink, Mush and Elmer into a game of cards.  
“Do you always carry that around?” Elmer asks, nodding towards the deck of cards Race is shuffling. Race smirks.  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

After a couple of games, Blink grows tired of losing and stars talking to Romeo and Specs instead. Race tries to keep the game going, but Mush is starting to glance more and more towards his boyfriend, growing less and less interested in his cards. 

Race sighs. Yup, it’s that time of the night where all the couples pair off and starts either making out in public or sneaking away for thirty minutes at a time. Race is not feeling it tonight. He rises from the floor. “Just go flirt with Blink, you idiot,” he says and rolls his eyes as Mush tries to act surprised. “I’m gonna go for a bit of fresh air,” he glances at Elmer. “We can play another round when I get back, yeah?”

He slips out of the apartment and goes out into the streets, taking a deep breath of the fresh night air. The night is not really cold for October, but a breeze still makes Race shudder. His hand ghosts over his pocket, his first impulse to reach for a packet of cigarettes, before he remembers that he quit. Stupid decision. He wouldn’t have done it if he’d known how much stress he’d be under during this fight with Spot.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”  
Race looks up in surprise. Speak of the devil. Except that not even the devil would look at Race the way Spot is, right now. He is standing beside the front door, leaning against the brick building. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, and he looks at Race expectantly. 

Race scoffs. “Last time I checked, asshole, the streets are a public place.”  
“You were gonna smoke, weren’t you?”  
Race rolls his eyes. “I quit, remember?”  
“Yeah, but I thought…”  
“Thought what? That you had any right to criticize me tonight? That's funny.”

Spot is quiet for a moment. Race’s irritation disappears as quickly as it arrived and he looks down. 

“I just needed some air,” he says quietly, and Spot nods to the sidewalk.  
“That’s fine,” he says, his voice a bit horse, and turns away from Race. Race is struck by the sudden urge to grab Spot’s hand to stop him from walking away. Stupid.

“Are you leaving?”  
Spot still doesn’t look at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”  
Race regrets not bringing a jacket. Another cool wind makes him shiver and he pulls his t-shirt, _Spot’s t-shirt_ , tighter around him.  
“That’s a dick-move, Spot. You should stay.”  
“Why?”  
Race narrows his eyes. “Why? Because we’re - they’re your friends? Because when you are not being an asshole, people actually like spending time with you?”  
Spot doesn’t say anything. Race sighs.  
“Look, just because you’re pissed at me doesn’t mean you should take it out on your friends who hasn’t -”  
“I’m not pissed at you.”

Spot’s voice is unusually quiet, but the words ring in Race’s ears as if he had yelled them.  
“You’re _not-_ What the _fuck_ Spot?”  
Spot takes a small step back, looking defensive. “What?”  
“You have been avoiding me for two fucking weeks, that’s what-”  
“I didn’t fucking avoid-”  
“Oh yeah, sure-”  
“If you weren’t such a dramatic pissbaby-”  
Race scoffs. “What, because I actually care that had sex?”

Spot goes quiet. He’s red in the face, only illuminated by the streetlights and the moon. His chest is heaving slightly, but otherwise he looks calm.  
Race drags his hand through his hair, swearing loudly. “I can’t, I…” He shakes his head, breaking off. There is something burning in his throat, and he’s scared it will get worse if he says anything. But Spot just stands there, without saying anything. Without doing anything.  
Race swallows. Here goes nothing.  
“Look, Spot,” he says, his voice quiet. “I don’t know why you have been ignoring me for the last couple of weeks. Maybe you had a great reason, I don’t fucking know. But if you think I’ll just fuck off just because you want me to, then you really don’t know me at all. We’re friends. Ignore the fact that we hooked up for a second, and remember that, okay?”

Spot finally moves. It’s not like something changed in his mind. It’s not like he suddenly understood how he felt or finally knew what to do. He just kind of… Follows his instincts.  
He takes a slow step forward, coming closer to Race until they are inches apart and sharing breaths. Race can count the freckles on Spot’s nose. Spot’s gaze flickers down at Race’s lips and then quickly up again. 

“You are such an asshole,” Race mumbles, but Spot can’t hear any heat behind the words so he grabs a firm grip of Race’s shirt and pulls him down a bit. Race captures Spot’s lips with his own.

The kiss is heated, it’s angry. It’s remnants of the fight, everything they didn’t get a chance to say. It’s teeth and Race is tugging at Spot’s hair and they are both kissing like they have got something to prove. 

It’s not what they should be doing, Race knows this. They should be _talking_ , they should communicate like normal fucking people. He knows this won’t end up well. He also knows that he still doesn’t want to stop this from happening.

Spot pushes on Race’s shoulders until he backs into the brick wall and Spot has him pinned there. Spot places his hands on Race’s hips and Race sighs into his mouth at the touch. Then suddenly they flip and Race is in control, pushing and kissing fiercely. He bites Spot’s bottom lip and Spot moans and grabs a little tighter hold of Race’s hips. 

They break apart because, yeah, oxygen is maybe kind of important. They share the same air, the same space, not being able to stop touching each other. Race drags his fingers over Spot’s chest, over his own shirt. Spot leans forward and places kisses on Race’s exposed neck. Race sighs again and pulls Spot closer by his jacket. 

“So you asked Romeo whether you were a good fuck?” Spot mumbles.  
Race groans, and Spot laughs against Race’s neck.  
“ _Asshole_.”

Everything else disappears as they stand there, leaning against each other. Spot’s hair is soft under Race’s fingers, and everything is suddenly warm despite the cold night.

“My apartment is only a couple of blocks away,” Race whispers, as if he’s afraid he will break this spell by talking too loud. Spot hums against Race’s skin.  
“What about our friends?”  
“I think they’ll manage without us one night.”  
“Don’t you need your coat?”  
“No, not really.”  
Spot laughs low, and the sound sends shivers up Race’s spine. 

By the time the party guests starts wondering where Spot and Race have gone, Jack has gotten a text from his foster brother. 

**Spot, 23.24:** race is very hot. might be a fever. taking him home. talk tmrw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it incredible that literally none of the Newsies are straight? Wow
> 
> **Kudos and comments really make my day, so please let me know what you think of this chapter!!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning.

The room is dark. The only sounds are those coming from outside the window, and Race’s even breathing next to Spot’s ear.   
Of course Race was gonna be a cuddler. That was expected. Last time had made Spot aware of this, and now his theory was proven correct. Race’s head is resting at Spot’s chest. The covers are pulled tight around them both, engulfing them in a warm cocoon. Their legs are tangled together. Race’s toes are cold. 

Spot is weak. So he stays a few more minutes like this, allowing himself to be selfish and pull Race a little closer for a little longer. He slowly breathes in the scent of Race, of his hair and skin. Anything that will make this seem real. Then he carefully detangles himself from Race’s grip and slips out of the bed. 

Spot dresses quickly, but as he sits down on the bed to pull on his trainers he feels movement behind him. There is shuffling of the covers and then Race grabs a hold of Spot’s shirt. The same shirt Race had been wearing the night before. It still smells faintly of Race. Spot is still.

Race is still half asleep, and he mumbles, “Stay.”  
Spot swallows tightly, and his voice is hoarse when he says: “Go back to sleep, Anthony.” 

The grip of his shirt slacks, and Spot feels his chest tighten a bit when he glances behind him. Race has fallen asleep again. 

Spot is weak. So he bends down and places a soft kiss on Race’s forehead before he slips out of the apartment just as the sun rises. 

Spot walks over the Brooklyn bridge, basking in the morning light. He passes a lot of people, going to work or in some cases going home, like he is. When he arrives to his dorms, he lies down on his bed. The room is dark and quiet, until-  
“Spot? Is that you?” Blink asks from his side of the room. His voice is sleepy, and Spot thinks he might have woken him up.  
Spot hums as an answer, his eyes closed.   
“Where were you?”   
“Race’s place. He wasn’t feeling well.”  
He can hear Mush’s gentle snoring from Blink’s bed, and figures that they were probably pretty happy to have the room to themselves last night.   
“Is he alright?” Blink asks. Spot considers for a moment. He thinks of the sleeping boy he left just a little while ago. How he had wanted Spot to stay.   
“I hope so,” Spot finally says. The room is still. Blink doesn’t answer; maybe he has fallen asleep again. 

Spot turns over to his side and hopes that sleep will come before the regret does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than usual, but the next chapter is gonna be pretty long so I think it makes up for it!
> 
> **As always, please leave kudos or a comment to let me know what you think!!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race wakes up a couple of hours later with a small hangover and the feeling that something is missing. The right side of the bed is cold when he hesitantly touches it.

Race wakes up a couple of hours later with a small hangover and the feeling that something is missing. He slowly opens his eyes, groggily glancing around the room. Clothes are thrown haphazardly on the floor. The blankets have tangled up with his legs during the night. The right side of the bed is cold when he hesitantly touches it.

Shit. 

He throws himself back onto his back, hitting the pillow with a low thud. A hollow feeling is spreading through his body as the lies there staring up at the ceiling.  
He lies there feeling sorry for himself for a couple of minutes before sighing and rising from his bed. He silently debated trying to call Spot, but quickly realizes that he will probably not answer. Instead, he opts for calling Jack.  
“I hope you have a great reason for calling me before noon, or I’ll throw you into the Hudson.”  
“Good morning to you too, dipshit,” Race greets while grabbing a pair of socks off the floor. “I’m coming over, I left my jacket at yours last night. I’ll be there in five.”  
Jack mutters something about ungrateful friends and awesome parties. Race can hear the faint sound of other voices in the background as well, and rolls his eyes at his friends. Then, after a few seconds, Jack is back. “Buy some food on the way and we’ll maybe let you in.” Race smiles and hangs up.

Race buys a large cheese pizza on the way to Jack and Davey’s apartment, and before long he is knocking on the door before letting himself in without waiting for an answer. They never lock the door, anyway.  
“Hope you are all decent,” Race calls into the apartment as he goes into the kitchen to grab some paper towels for the pizza.  
Jack, David and Crutchie are lying on the couch, basically on top of each other. Jack and Crutchie are in the middle of an intense game of Super Smash Bros, but David glances up when Race enters the room.  
“Pizza?” he questions with a slightly wrinkled nose. “I thought you were buying breakfast.”  
“Pizza is the best hangover-food,” Jack points out without dropping his gaze from the TV. He is playing as Kirby, and is fighting Zelda/Crutchie with a malicious gleam in his eyes.  
“And besides, it’s almost noon,” Race says and sits down. “This is lunch.”

The match ends and Crutchie is crowned victor. Jack sulks as they turn to the table to starts on the pizza. Jack’s eyes land on Race.  
“Damn, you look even worse than I’m feeling.”  
Race mumbles something about not having the time to shower and pulls his hoodie up a little at his neck. Showing off the bruises on his collarbone was not something he was planning to.  
“How can you be hungover?” Crutchie asks Race. “You didn’t even drink that much last night, you went home before we started with the drinking games.”  
Race shrugs. “Lightweight?” he says questioningly. He doesn’t point out that the reason why he’s feeling shitty is not really because of the alcohol consumed the night before. He came here to ignore his own problems, not actually facing them. And to play videogames, of course.

“So,” David says, glancing at Race who is stuffing an entire slice of pizza into his mouth at once. “What’s up?”  
Race shrugs again. “What do you mean?”  
“Is there a reason why you’re here?”  
“I was bored and wanted some company.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Why, did you kick Spot out this morning?”

Race chokes on his pizza and begins to cough violently. Crutchie claps on his back, but it takes a few moments for Race to compose himself enough to answer with an eloquent, “ _What?_ ” 

The three others exchange glances. “Well, Spot told us you had a fever and that he took you home,” David says carefully, making sure that Race isn’t chewing on anything else he might choke on. “And then Blink texted us saying that Spot didn’t come home to their dorm last night, so we assumed he stayed to take care of you.”  
Race nods, head spinning. “Oh, that. Yeah, that’s…” he tries for a casual smile, but fails. “That’s what happened, yeah.”  
Jack snorts. “Uh, okay, obviously we missed something. Tell us, what happened?”

Race shakes his head dismissively and reaches over to the table to grab the paper towels. He only realises his mistake when Crutchie’s lets out a small gasp.  
“Is that a _hickey_?”  
Race falls back into the couch, tugging his collar up to his ears. “No, it’s not,” he says quickly. But Crutchie is pointing a finger at him, eyes wide.  
“You and Spot hooked up, didn’t you?”

Jack and David both sits up straighter in their seats, and Jack quickly grabs hold of Race’s head to examine his neck more closely. Race feels like the air around him is getting thicker.  
“Let me go!” he says sharply and pulls himself free. He shoots up from the sofa, his eyes narrowed at Crutchie. 

“So, you slept here last night, Crutch? Funny how there’s no sign of someone crashing on the sofa, huh? That’s some hospitality, letting you sleep in their bed.”

David gives Race a warning look. Crutchie looks taken aback.  
“ _Hey_ -” Jack begins to say, but Race just scoffs, a small pit of anger in his stomach burning away.  
“No, you have no right to pry in my personal issues, okay? It is none of your fucking business.”  
“Race-”  
“See you guys later,” Race says and storms out of the room. He barely remembers to grab his jacket from where he had left it yesterday before he slams the front door. 

He stops outside of the building. Residue of anger is still flowing through his body like shockwaves. Not just anger towards Crutchie, Jack and Davey, no. It’s definitely anger towards Spot as well. But Spot isn’t here right not, and even if he was here he would probably just find a way to distract Race so much that Race forgot ow angry he was.

Damn, he wants a cigarette. 

The door opens. Race expects Jack, he expects an argument and another storming off, but it’s David who looks around the sidewalk before spotting him. 

“I don’t want to talk, Dave,” Race mutters and turns away.  
“You might not have a choice,” David says. His voice is cool, which makes Race feel guilty. Davey almost never gets angry. If Race has managed to make David Jacobs angry, then he really must have fucked up. 

David drags a hand over his face and sighs. “Firstly, I think you owe Crutchie an apology.”  
Race scowls. “He didn’t have any right-”  
David holds up a hand to silence him. Race goes quiet.  
“I never said Crutchie shouldn’t apologize to you as well. He was out of line, and he knows it. But you were unnecessarily mean, and now he’s upset.”  
Race glares at the pavement. He kicks at the wall. “I didn’t know it was such a touchy subject.”  
David sighs again. He takes a moment to compose his thoughts, trying to find the best way to explain. “We… We don’t really know what it is, yet. It’s all very new.”  
Race glances up at David, who shrugs.  
“We are trying it out. But Crutchie, he’s… well. It’s not an easy situation, is all I’m saying.”

Race nods. Maybe he doesn’t understand completely, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue. The anger is slowly slipping away, leaving him tired to the bone. 

“Okay,” David continues, sliding down to sit on the ground with his back to the wall. “Now that’s out of the way, tell me what’s up with you and Spot.”  
Race doesn’t answer.  
“We don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” David says gently. “But keeping all of these feelings inside of you isn’t helping, it’s only gonna make you resentful.”  
Race snorts and sits down next to him.  
“You should probably tell Spot that, not me,” he says quietly and David chuckles. “I don’t know what I’m doing, honestly.” Race’s voice sounds hollow. “I like him. I _really_ like him. But he probably doesn’t feel the same way.”  
David furrows his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”  
Race shrugs. “You want a list?” He starts to count on his fingers. “We slept together and he left the next morning without saying anything. He then proceeded to avoid me for two weeks and ignore all of my calls and texts. When we saw each other we immediately started arguing…”  
David scoffs. “Yeah, and then you slept together again!”  
Race rolls his eyes. “ _Yeah_ , only for me to wake up to an empty bed, _again._ Maybe he’s, like, attracted to me, or whatever, but that doesn’t mean he likes me romantically or anything.”

“You’ve ever thought that maybe he’s just scared?”  
Race and David look up. Jack is standing in the door, arms crossed.  
“How’s Crutchie?” David quickly asks. Jack shrugs.  
“He’s okay. In the shower, at the moment,” he glances at Race, an apprehensive look in his eyes. “He wants to talk to you when he gets out.” Race nods. 

“Anyway, I think that if you are trying to understand the mind of Spot Conlon, I’m the person for the job. I did live with him for about four years.” Jack smirks. He casually leans against the wall, but his eyes make it clear that he isn’t casual about this. “Spot doesn’t trust anyone easily, and he has good reasons why. When he first came to Medda…” He hesitates for a second. “Well, let’s just say that he has changed a lot, for the better. I have never heard him talk about a crush or anything like that. I don’t think he’s ever been in a serious relationship.”

Race shrugs “I just wanted us to talk to him about what we were doing. I didn’t expect a, I don’t fucking know, proposal or a promise of a house and a dog, right?”  
Jack looks tired. “Well, maybe he was just scared of putting himself out there.”

Somehow, it clicks. Suddenly, Race curses, making David flinch a bit in surprise. “And I pushed him to talk when he didn’t feel comfortable with that. Shit, I’m such an ass” He closes his eyes and groans.  
“Race, I don’t think it’s that simple,” David says slowly. “Sure, maybe you shouldn’t have pushed as much as you did, but he can’t keep ignoring you like that either. It’s not fair for either of you.”  
Race sighs, and then stands up.  
“I should probably talk to Crutchie.”  
Jack steps out of his way, but stops Race before he goes inside. “Oh, Race?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Spot’s my brother. If you hurt him, I will kill you.”  
Race rolls his eyes. “I’m your best friend, Jack.”  
Jack nods seriously. “Don’t think I won’t tell Spot the same thing. He’s my brother, but if he hurts my best friend I will not let him get away with it.”

***

When Crutchie has gotten out of the shower and dressed, he opens the bathroom door and comes face to face with Race. Race looks even worse than he did when he first arrived at the apartment, his hair a wild mess and a permanent frown on his face. Crutchie feels a stab of pity for the boy.  
“Crutch, I’m so sorry for what I said,” Race slowly says. “I was tired and angry and way out of line, and I hope you can forgive me.”  
Crutchie laughs. “Of course. And I’m sorry for pushing you about Spot.”  
“You didn’t know.”  
“I should have realised.”  
Race smiles. “Friends?”  
Crutchie laughs and motions for Race to hug him. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are nearing the end of this story!! There will be one more chapter, and after that a short epologue... look forward to that lads
> 
> Kudos and comments make my day!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot is doing good. But not really.

Spot is doing good.

The days continue. He goes to class. He does his homework. He hangs out with Blink. Mush joins them more often than not. They play video games or watch old horror movies that are so bad that they can only laugh at them. Spot picks up a few extra shifts at the garage where he works part-time, just to keep himself busy. A week goes by without a word from Race. Then another. 

Spot understands the radio silence. It’s Race’s way of passive aggressively making a point. The ball is in Spot’s court now. It’s his choice what to do with it.   
Spot hates passive aggressiveness. He thought Race did, too. They are both usually so direct in their arguments, there’s never any doubt as to why or how they are fighting. Until now, that is. Spot doesn’t like it. It’s different from how they usually act with each other.

But he does his best. He works hard. He studies even harder. He doesn’t snap at Much and Blink after walking into them making out on Blink’s bed, even though it’s the fifth time that week it has happened. He answers Jack’s texts, even though he doesn’t elaborate on why he’s been so distant.

Spot is doing good.

But not really. 

He just doesn’t give himself enough free time to think. If he keeps himself busy, then he won’t have any room in his brain for thoughts of Race, of Race’s hands, of Race’s lips on his -  
Yeah, no. Thinking? Bad. 

So, yeah. Spot is doing good.

Not everyone agrees. 

“Dude, what the fuck is up with you?”

Spot glares at Mush. “What?” he snaps. Mush, usually open and always smiling, looks irritated for once. Blink is glancing between his boyfriend and his roommate, looking like he’s waiting for a bomb to go off. Mush doesn’t back down, but continues to stare at Spot, who is lying in his bed on his phone.  
“You haven’t been yourself for weeks, Spot. You are miserable.”  
“I’m not.”  
“When was the last time you went out? Met anyone except us two?”  
Spot doesn’t say anything. The answer, that the Not-Halloween-party was the last time he actually went out, would be like giving ammunition to a rival ship.  
“I’m fine,” Spot mutters instead and continues scrolling on his phone.   
Mush scoffs but gives up, and grabs his backpack next to the door. “I gotta get to work, I have the late shift tonight,” he says, and then quietly adds to Blink: “Make him do _something_.”

Blink looks at Spot for a long time after Mush leaves. After almost a minute of silence, Spot glances up from his phone and gives Blink an unimpressed look. “What do you want?”   
“I’m gonna give you two options,” Blink says, sitting down at the end of Spot’s bed. His voice doesn’t hold any room for negotiations. “First option, I call Specs to come take care of you.”  
“You wouldn’t dare,” Spot snarls, imagining in horror the ways Specs would try to get him out of this depression. “He would drag me out on a run. I hate running, Blink.”  
Blink rolls his eyes. “Going outside for a bit would probably be good for you, you know.”  
Spot rolls his eyes. “I go outside.”  
“Work and class doesn’t count. You haven’t even been going to the gym lately, I’ve noticed.”  
Spot is quiet.   
“The other option,” Blink continues, already pulling out his phone. “Is that I call Jack, so he can come here and make you admit that you are feeling shitty and then force you to do something about it.”  
“You are evil.”  
“I’m your friend,” Blink corrects cooly. “And whether you want to or not, friends are there for each other.”  
Spot doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Jack takes ten minutes to get to Spot’s dorm, which is impressive given that it’s usually a twenty minute walk from his apartment.   
“Up and at ‘em, Spotty,” he says and grabs Spot’s phone from him. He ignores Spot’s protests and turns to Blink. “Thanks for calling, dude.”  
“No problem,” Blink grins and grabs his jacket. “I’m gonna head out, see if I can catch Mush at his break. Have fun, Spot,” he says before leaving the dormroom.

Spot glares at the door even after Blink is gone. 

“You need to snap out of this mopey mood you are in,” Jack says. It’s not any kind of question, but a statement that makes Spot grumble under his breath. Jack is rummaging through Spot’s wardrobe and pulls out a clean shirt that he tosses to Spot.  
“I’m fine,” Spot tries, even though he knows it’s meaningless. Sure enough, Jack only snorts.   
“Yeah, you look completely fine. Come on, take a shower and get dressed.”  
“Why?” Spot is already getting out of his bed. There is a dent in the mattress from his increasing use of it as of late.  
“Because I’m your fairy godmother and I’m going to help you fix all of your problems.”  
“A shower is gonna help with my problems?” Spot says, rolling his eyes. He has already accepted his fate though, and is looking around the room for a towel. 

Jack grins at his brother. “Bippity boppity boo.”

Half an hour later, they are both walking over the Brooklyn bridge. Jack doesn’t answer when Spot asks, once again, where they are going. He only smiles and waves aside the questions. “Patience, my young padawan.”  
“I’m not getting a braid.”  
Jack nods thoughtfully. “I can’t say I’m disappointed. You would have looked ridiculous.”

Walking over the Brooklyn bridge is nice. Spot has always loved doing it, and it is one of the reasons why he doesn’t mind having his dorm in Brooklyn even though so many of his friends live in Manhattan. The fresh air does help clear his mind a bit, and he feels a bit of energy returning to his body as he takes deep breaths of the New York air. Winter is quickly approaching, Spot can feel it in the sting of the air. It’s already dark, and the only light in their way are the streetlamps. He lets his mind wander, and doesn’t even notice where they are going before it’s too late.   
He stops dead in his tracks. Jack, who expected this, simply grabs hold of Spots arm and continues walking at the same pace as before.   
“Jack, no-”  
“Jack, yes.”  
Spot tries to shrug of Jack’s arm. They are almost at the right building. Spot glances up and he can see that the light is on in Race’s apartment. _Fuck._   
Jack stops in front of the door, facing Spot. He puts a hand on Spot’s shoulder, comfortingly.   
“I’ve only told Race that I’m coming, not you. I’m not gonna force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But I am giving you an opportunity here.”  
“What opportunity?” Spot is still staring at the window that he knows is Race’s.  
“The opportunity to talk to him.”  
“I don’t know what-”  
“Cut the bullshit, Conlon. Race told me everything.”

_With the risk of sounding repetitive: Fuck._

Jack squeezes Spot’s shoulder. Spot meets his eyes. Jack smiles kindly, sincerely. “He wants to talk to you, Spot. He wants to work this out. And I know you want to, as well.”  
Spot doesn’t say anything. Jack sighs and shakes his head.  
“You just need to man up.”  
“That’s sexist, Jack.”  
“You’re right. Please don’t tell Kath I said that.”

Spot glances at the entrance, finding it hard to meet Jack’s eyes. “It’s not that simple for me, you know? To just… face my feelings.”  
Jack nods. “I know. But you could be missing out on something great just because you are scared.” He smiles slightly. “Don’t let fear control your life.”

Spot takes the stairs to the third floor two at a time. 

His whole body feels like it’s going to explode. Every nerve on his skin is on fire, making him aware of every second passing as he waits for the door to open. A loud thud is heard from the inside of the apartment, and then a loud curse.   
“I’m coming, Jack, hold on,” Race yells from inside the apartment and then he is opening the door. “You’re late, I’ve been waiting for - oh.”

Spot doesn’t really know what to do now. Neither does Race.   
“Uh. Hi.”  
Race smiles tightly. “Hiya, Spot.”  
They are quiet for a moment. Spot’s throat is dry. He coughs.   
“Can I, uh… Can I come in?”  
The two boys go inside. Race motions or Spot to sit down at the small kitchen table. The silence is heavy in the air between them.   
“Are you here to yell at me or are we finally gonna talk like adults?”  
Spot is quiet, and Race’s face softens a bit. “Okay,” he says and sits down in the other chair. “Here’s the deal. I like you. A lot. I’m not gonna lie and say that I’m not just because it makes it easier for us.” He lets out a short laugh. Spot is feeling a bit dizzy, like the earth is spinning a bit too fast. Race looks at him a for a second. “Are you gonna say something?”

Spot nods, taking a second to compose his thoughts. “I owe you an apology,” he begins. He feels awkward looking at Race, so he glances down and inspects his hands instead. Then he feels stupid for doing that, so he looks up again. 

Race is staring at him. Not just watching, but actually staring like Spot said something incredibly stupid. 

“What?” Spot asks, feeling a bit defensive. Race just shakes his head, a small smile appearing on his face.   
“I just didn’t expect an apology. We don’t apologize much, do we?”  
“What?” Spot repeats, feeling a bit stupid. Race blushes a bit, and shrugs.   
“We never apologize to each other, when we fight. That’s just not us.”

Spot considers. Race is right. During the years Spot has known Race, they have fought and argued lots of times. They have shouted, snarled, made biting remarks that were supposed to stung. But it had always been an even playing field. They never apologized to each other, because they always knew they were both the assholes. 

“It’s a bit different this time,” Spot argues.   
“Not really,” Race says. He sighs. “Look, Spot. I just wanted to _talk_ to you. Have an honest discussion about how you feel about -” he gestures between them. “I never wanted us to not be _us_. I never wanted you to not be _you_. I never expected that.”  
Spot doesn’t really know what to say, so he just nods.   
“I understand if you don’t feel the same way as I do, or if you’re not ready for a relationship or-”

Wait, what?  
Spot shakes his head quickly, making Race stop in his train of thought.   
“That’s where you are wrong.”   
Race stares at Spot again.   
“That was never the problem. Or maybe it was, I don’t know,” Spot is not doing a great job at expressing his feelings. “I didn’t know what I wanted, or perhaps I did, but I was too scared to admit it. To admit that- that I like you.”  
Race continues to stare. “Are you fucking with me?”  
Spot can’t help but smile. “No, I’m not.”  
“But-”  
“I’m not good with relationships. I never learned how to deal with people when I grew up, so I’m still learning. And I’m scared, to be honest.”  
“So am I.”  
Spot scoffs. “No you’re not.”  
Race raises an eyebrow. “What, you are the only one who can be scared of love, Mr. Repressed feelings?”

Spot laughs. Race can’t help but join in, and soon they are both laughing so hard that there are tears forming in their eyes. Their stomachs hurt, they are bent over the table, shaking. When they calm down, after a minute or two, they fall into a comfortable silence. Race grabs hold of Spot’s hand. Spot answers by pulling Race out of his chair and crashing their lips together. Race makes a surprised sound, and Spot suddenly pulls away.   
“Oh shit, I shouldn’t have just done that -”  
Race just laughs and trails a finger along Spot’s jaw. Spot shuts up. He tugs at Race’s hand, and Race sits down in Spot’s lap and pulls Spot closer by his shirt. Spot gazes up at Race. He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now there's only one short epilogue left, and then we're done! 
> 
> **Please leave kudos and comments, I am starving and desperate**


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room is slowly growing lighter as the sun rises.

The room is slowly growing lighter as the sun rises. Soon it will be day again.  
Race is sleeping. His light snores are the only sound Spot can focus on as he lies next to him. The small puffs of air. In and out. It grounds him. Somehow, it makes the whole scenario feel more real. It is proof that Anthony Higgins is alive. That he is breathing, that he exists in this place at this time, right next to Spot. That he’s there, not going anywhere. 

Spot rolls over and puts an arm around Race’s waist, pulling him closer. Race sighs sleepily.  
“You awake?” he whispers without opening his eyes.  
Spot nods and hums against Race’s skin.  
“Go back to sleep,” Race advices and rolls over, facing Spot. He gives him a soft kiss.  
“Yeah, I will,” Spot mumbles, already halfway there. “I was just waiting for you to wake up. I wanted to kiss you.”  
Race grins. Spot thinks it is the most beautiful thing in the entire world. “You sappy son of a bitch.” Spot laughs at that.

The sun rises over the tall buildings of Manhattan. Race’s room bathes in morning light. Spot stays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WE GO FOLKS!!! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that has read, commented and/or left kudos on this. If you want to read more Newsies-fanfiction from me, just let me know! 
> 
> If you have a prompt you want me to write, or just want to say hi, shoot me a message here or on tumblr! My tumblr is **Pizzas-will-rule-the-world**
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
